


kiss the world goodbye

by aetherae



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aetherae/pseuds/aetherae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being one of them must not have meant a damn thing if he was holding her as she died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss the world goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> A short drabble based on a short comic from Pixiv (ID: 19952749). They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but I completely fall short. Regardless, I hope I did some sort of justice for it!

Yuri’s blade slides through Estelle’s stomach easily, disgustingly effortless and with nothing more than a small gasp from Estelle to indicate that it’s gone straight through her. He takes it out with just as much ease, from the base of the guard to the very tip, catching her with his now free arm and cradling her head before she can fall the ground. It feels more like he’s holding glass, a porcelain doll, rather than the girl he was willing to risk everything for to bring back safe and sound.

He was ready to do _anything_.

It still wasn’t enough.

_Ah_ , he thinks to himself, holding onto her body with a death grip, as if that would be enough to save her from what he’s done, _I’ve done it_.

He recalls a night that happened so long ago, it almost feels as if it’s a memory that belongs to someone else. The starry night, the cool desert breeze, and a smile that had complete and utter faith in him—it was in that kind of setting that Estelle turned to him, sure in her beliefs for once and content with her thoughts.

_If you ever turn your sword on me, I'm sure I'll have done something to deserve it._

But she didn’t, she didn’t deserve it, and them turning their weapons against her was only the result of their incapability of saving her, the result of _his_ incapability of saving her. She was one of them, always had been, and yet they still couldn’t do a damn thing when she swung her sword at him.

He hears his voice half-calling her name, as if that would be enough to rouse her from the eternal sleep she was falling into; with a smile she stops him, hand raised to brush against his cheek. It looks all wrong though—he’s seen her wounded, sure, but not like this, not with blood spilling from her mouth and tears in her eyes as she tries to smile through it all. Everything is wrong, all wrong, and there isn’t a thing he can do to make it right.

“Thank you.”

In the distance somewhere lies her mother’s memento, partly ruined from their battle and the only reminder he’ll have of the trust she had in him. She always did trust that no matter what he did, it would be for the right reasons.

Killing her had to have been the furthest thing from “right reasons”.

“I’m sorry,” he says, laments with a voice thick from grief, and feels more than sees her body go limp in his arms.

She was dead.


End file.
